


Relief.

by thatdragonchic



Series: Zeus Foundation + Sierra November (Macgyver 2016) [3]
Category: MacGyver (TV 2016)
Genre: Fluff and Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Sierra november, Stream of Consciousness, The Zeus Team, continuation of my last fics
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-06
Updated: 2019-03-06
Packaged: 2019-11-12 23:31:07
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,822
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18020561
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thatdragonchic/pseuds/thatdragonchic
Summary: directly ties into Jasper's hospital time in "We're Friends!"Companion piece surrounded around Jasper's consciousness and how his mental state is. What's going through him. Written to the song: Wasteland, Baby! by Hozier





	Relief.

It was like being in a meadow, an eternal bliss in the world around them, sinking in the grass, thinking nothing at all. There was nothing to think about, just the quiet, and the sound of the crickets, and the birds, chirping in the summer evening, how the hot air sticks to them, the smell of the soup being made inside. The world that surrounded him, balmy and sweet. Smelled especially like honey, and a bit like freshly cut grass. The honeysuckles were thick in the air, the Jasmine’s an afterthought. 

He swears if he stares hard enough that he see the world turning, from the way the clouds drift in the sky. Escaping quickly, going wherever it takes them. The sun is setting, the moon is rising. The world was sinking quickly with him, begging him to forget all the hurt that it held. To just see the good, to not thinking about how it all could easily be ending soon. That doom was on the precipice, he thinks nothing of it. There was nothing to think about. 

Just hours ago he was sinking into the French Rivera, drowning in the water, but it doesn’t matter now. Nothing matters, he’s home. And there’s music playing somewhere, and he can hear Mel laughing in the distance, Carter telling her jokes. The world was slow, and it took it’s time turning, rushing past him and yet slowing down to hold him. He was okay now. It doesn’t matter what happened hours ago. They were okay now. Everything was okay now. 

He wants his head to rush with thoughts, but there wasn’t any. There’s nothing to think about. They’re home, and they’re okay. He’s okay. That’s what mattered. That everything was okay. They were going to be okay.

The precipice of relief was just beyond the hills, where the sky ended and the world reached an edge, and the world drifted into space, and there was a place, where the sun nestled there, brimmed under the worlds cover. There was a sort of heaven there, it was just a matter of finding it. He wonders if he’s found it, the world of relief- or does relief only come with death? 

He sits up and let’s reality rush back to him, finds himself waking up in a dark hospital room, he’s eyes bleary, there was a fluorescent light off to the side, and he finds Mac sleeping on the small window soft, arms around his stomach. His eyes are bleary, the world has slowed to a halt. He let’s it rush past him again, and hold him still. Even in the darkness of the room, the sun rising outside the big window, the sky a murky blue/orange color, making an ugly green in between the sunlight and and the sky, as if maybe calling to the sea. The moon was still out, even as the sun tried to find it’s way up.

He sinks back into the bed, presses the button that administers the medicine, the button green, begging to be pressed. He let’s relief rush into his stream- was relief just there, past the big buildings of the city? He lets his head fall onto the pillow, taking a deep breath. Maybe he’d find it if he just closed his eyes again, pretends that his whole body didn’t ache. That he wasn’t losing to the whole world. 

He’s conjured a wasteland of pain for himself, and he wonders if maybe he should just let it all go. The idea is relief, and he finds himself reaching for the precipice again, falling back into a deep sleep. He used to own the world, being owning the world is a big and scary task, he finds himself phased- phased that he might not recover this time. That he might just fall apart. 

There was a place of comfort on the couch, where he would he lay with his head in Julius’ lap, listening to him breathe softly, as he turns the pages to a book, and the coffee pot is brewing in the background, and there’s a winter chill outside, the window brushing the windows, whispering for them to open, to take hold of them, but they were safe inside. In the warmth of his house, with the fireplace on. And they sat there, curled up together. He had never been safer, he had never felt closer to safety. 

_ “A-Laying there, right tip to my door, where every bad luck that comes and goes is bound to find it. I told Addie it want any luck living on a road when it come by here, and she said, for the world like a woman, ‘get up and move then.’ But I told her want no luck in it. The lord put roads for traveling-”  _

His voice was warm and comforting. There was home in the voices that read to us and spoke to us, and he thinks that in the bubble of his home, the winter couldn’t hurt them, and that there was home here in his voice, and in the gentle rub of his hand along the nape of his neck, and that if he were to just close his eyes and get lost, he would find relief. He didn’t have to think about all the pain he’d concurred, the heart ache, and the loss, there was nothing to think about. It would just be them on the couch, and he was safe. 

He was okay. 

He was safe. 

_ Lay still and rest.  _ He was safe and okay, and there was nothing to think about. There was nothing in the world.

Consciousness is the cold of the hospital room and Mac fighting with the doctor, and the warmth of his voice, and there was home again, as Thomas sits next to him. There was a goodness in the world, between his fingers, and how Mac runs his fingers through his hair, and how Thomas had this laughter that only good men had. And the world slows and rushes past him, and he thinks that he’s tired, and then he thinks it again. There was nothing much to think about, he doesn’t really care to think much at all. Just that he was here. Julius and Mel rotate shifts on watching him.

There’s warmth in their voices, shielding him from the cold of the world, the draft of the room, whispering to let it in, to let it bite at the veins of his heart. He should be angry, the draft tells him.  _ “Don’t you wanna sleep baby?”  _ Mel tells him, putting down the bowl of soup on the bedside table finally. He hasn’t eaten much lately. He doesn’t really want to eat much of anything, and he doesn’t want to do much more than sleep, and everything hurts.

It doesn’t have to hurt, he thinks that there’s relief… just over the horizon, if he reaches for it. If he finds it. This was just the end of a new beginning. He’s tired. He’s so very tired. And his side hurts- is that where he cut him? He doesn’t care to know. He keeps thinking of it but there’s nothing to think about. The world was sinking and there was a breeze in the room- was it just the room? 

A deep warmth fills him as Mel kisses his head. He was safe here. He was okay. He would be, just for now. Relief was there, and he wants to reach for it- but if he reaches for it, would everything else go? His body begs him.  _ Just give in.  _ There’s a good place, there beyond the horizon, tucked in the hills far out from the house, that were mere shadows in the skyline, where the sun would sink, and tuck itself in until it climbed back up until morning. It was a good, good place. A sort of heaven even. Wouldn’t it be nice to be there? 

And he’s sinking in the sweet fall air, lighting a candle, and Mac is pressing kisses to his shoulder. Just outside his house, the leaves are falling finally, brilliant blues and reds, their finally kiss goodbye to the earth, as it goes. As it happens to go every year, and he shuts the window, bidding the outside world goodbye. There’s a tenderness in everything Mac does, something that coaxes him back into the world with a flush of color and life, he’s a gentle touch. His laughter was the world spinning, and he holds him close, life filling his lungs. He felt like he was drowning in the goodness of the world, there with Mac. 

There was a tenderness here. The world wasn’t all so hard. It wasn’t all so bad. There was more than just blood and gore and bad men or good men who hated the world, were hardened by the world. There was sweetness, pressed to his lips, taking the air from him and yet he was more alive than he’d ever really felt. Sweetness named Macgyver. 

He lets himself fall into his arms, and he wakes up there too, in the cool hospital bed, Mac’s cheek pressed into his shoulder, lips parted gently in his sleep. Clinging to him, as if making sure he was okay. Relief was begging him to walk towards it, to take it’s hand. It promises him everything. Promises him sweetness and tenderness and warmth and love, and relief. There would be no more pain. Nothing to think about. Nothing to feel but goodness. Like light escaping his chest.

Mac shifts against him and he thinks the light is already there against his chest. There’s light already breaking through, and it’s in Kaori’s laughter on a soft spring afternoon, as she draws on his arm. Her skin was glowing, it always was. She was like the sun that spilled through the window, her laughter was the cascade of white light. The gentle yellow lamps as the day got dark again. 

He shifts back in and the light is still there, and it was nearing evening. He isn’t really sure of much, just that everything hurt, and nothing was fully coherent. He just lay there in the bed, and he thinks relief would be easy. If he hands himself over to relief, it wouldn’t hurt anymore, and he wouldn’t hurt anymore, and there wouldn’t be much to think about.

But Julius and Kaori are talking in the corner of the room, laughing about something and Mel is strumming her guitar, Mac reading beside him, Thomas singing as Mel plays her guitar. Relief was there, right in front of him. 

He was going to be okay. Things were going to be okay. 

Relief was only a reach away, and he turns his head to nuzzle into Mac’s plaid shirt, he can hear him laugh, and he just smiles. Relief was here, in Mac’s arms. He doesn’t have to go quite yet. 

**Author's Note:**

> I hope you enjoyed! I know I had fun just typing without thinking it through really, this was just a piece inspired by the song Wasteland, Baby, which I hope you read this to !   
> They really do go hand in hand, and I think it sets the mood well.


End file.
